Faire Wind

[SexyChele]

OOC: This thread is open to all players. If interested, please write in a character that fits with the time period.

Background: It is well-known that England’s policy on dealing with certain criminals was to simply ship them off to some remote land to serve their sentence. The idea was that this “criminal” element would never be able to acquire the money to return to England, thereby not only sparing the expense of taking care of these prisoners, but also ensuring they would be unable to repeat the offense within English society. These prisoners were to work for a certain length of time, and then their freedom was granted.

At first, England used the Colonies in the New World to set up a penal institution system. However, at the close of the 18th century, and with the colonies winning their independence from the English throne, England was once again at a loss as to where to send these prisoners. Another place, a half world away from England, came into mind. Australia! Huge, vastly unpopulated, except for certain natives, it seemed a perfect place. Whether it was hospitable to actually being habitable was of no concern to both the English throne or the English people. It was a terrific “dumping ground” for those considered less desirable.

However, our story first takes place on the ship taking a ship of these prisoners to Australia. Prisoners were not accorded the best treatment, in fact many were abused and treated poorly. Many died, and to exist, many would do whatever was necessary to survive. On the ship we are about to embark on, most of the crew are harsh and demanding – even cruel at times. Survival of the prisoners is often determined by the how well they conform to the crew’s demands….

Again, please PM me before posting to this thread, if you are interested. If you do not wish to participate, then I invite you to read along and enjoy. Feedback is always welcomed and appreciated ~



IC: Lisbeth stood on the dock in the misty gray morning staring up at what was to be her home for the next few months. The HMS Faire Wind sits high and proud in the waters of Bristol Harbor – seemingly as harmless as any of her sisters surrounding her. But this ship was different. This ship’s hold would not hold such cargo as textiles or foodstuffs. No. This ship’s cargo was to be human beings. Human beings such as herself who have been tried and convicted to a life in virtual exile. To be taken to a land where few had come back from and the tales of surviving horrendous. To some place half a world away.

Lisbeth shivered despite the chill air. She looked around her at the other prisoners that were to be her company in the months ahead. She saw men and women of all ages, and all poor. Here and there a young street urchin could be seen, defiance etched on their faces, an attempt at bravado. She wondered at how few would reach the final destination. She wondered if she would reach her final destination.

As the bindings which held her wrists behind her back slowly caused her hands to go numb, she thought back to the previous Spring, just 5 months before. Yes, she had committed the crime they had convicted her for. She had indeed stole the fine silver buttons and gold-tipped cane from a certain Mr. John Winchester. She had been starving and on the streets, begging for money, selling her body if need be, for food or shelter. Mr. John Winchester had used her. Used her and then attempted to leave without payment. Yes, she had hit him over the head with his cane. She had ripped the buttons off of his coat and snatched the cane before running off. Yet, she was easily caught. Her mockery of a trial and the eventual conviction surprised no one, including Lisbeth. Mr. John Winchester was a wealthy man, known in London society, and one used to getting his own way.

Lisbeth was unprepared for her sentence, however. Exile to some place called Australia! Did she deserve this? How had her crime warranted this punishment? Well. It wasn’t as if she were leaving a lot behind in England. An orphan since the age of 10, her father unknown, her mother more interested in the men she served in the tavern than her own daughter, Lisbeth was alone in the world. Yet, she did want to live. And sailing to Australia meant certain death to the majority who traveled these ships.

She felt the shackles on her ankles pulled and looked up. The line was moving forward. She tried as best she could to walk and keep her balance with the heavy chain between her feet. She could feel her ankles being rubbed raw from the heavy iron cuff and winced with every step.

“It’s okay, dearie, you are young and strong, Ye’ll be fine, I’ve no doubt.”

Lisbeth turned towards the voice. A woman who was probably 40 and looked 60 smiled a toothless grin at her. The smell of her putrid breath rose up to greet Lisbeth, yet she still smiled weakly. Yes. She was young and her body strong. At only 20, she knew her chances of survival were better than most.

A sharp gust blew in off the harbor causing Lisbeth’s chestnut hair to float about her face, obscuring her view. Her hair was thick and waist-length, and she wished she could secure it, yet it hung lose and now trailed in the wind. She looked up once more at the ship with her clear blue eyes, and knew her fate was sealed. She vaguely heard the cries of the crowd standing on either side of her, yelling insults and obscenities. However, she could not so easily dismiss the looks of the crew awaiting the prisoners. Her body did indeed drive most men to carnal thoughts – her curves were warm and inviting, and had often been what she depended on to get by.

As she reached the gangplank, Lisbeth attempted to lift her foot, but had difficulty with the chain binding her feet. She looked at the crew members on each side, yet they only laughed at her predicament. The person before was moving forward and if Lisbeth did not gain access, she would lose her balance and tumble. Holding her breath and hopping slightly, she managed to gain a foothold and walked into the next phase of her life.

 

[Snork Maiden]

Name : Mary Wilkes
Age : 19
Sex : obviously
Hair : Dark Brown, Eyes : Hazel, Height 5’2”, Weight 112lb
Status : Convicted Felon

Mary Beth regarded the blacksmith warily as fitted the shackles to herl legs and arms. The thick iron bands hung heavily around her slim ankles and cut into the heel of her foot. The blacksmith raised her leg twisting it uncomfortably as he hammered the hot rivet into place securing her bonds, the heat of the red glowing bolt quickly conducting through the metal and heated her foot. The smithy placed it in a bucket to cool and harden the fastening before repeating the task on the second. The hammer clanged, the ringing resounded in hr head and her nostrils filled with the smell of the iron smelt and furnace as the smithy’s apprentice prepared the short bolts for the next prisoner.

‘Next’, the guard called, pushing Mary Beth forward harshly to make way for the next deportee. Stumbling forward, adjusting to the new burden of the shackles that chained her feet together, Mary followed the line of convicts toward the dock and the vessel that berthed there. A crowd of people lined the way, some called out ‘Scum’ and other obscenities, whilst other bought rotten vegetables and other items from street-hawkers to throw.

‘What a change of fate’, Mary thought to herself, only months earlier she had been working as a scullery maid for a wealthy landowner in Wells, Somerset. She had considered herself fortunate given her broken childhood, the second youngest of seven children; her mother had died of pneumonia when Mary was only 8. Her siblings five boys and a younger sister struggled to help their father maintain his small holding but it was difficult. Mary help around the house but as soon as her younger sister was old enough to take over the house chores, she herself had been sold into the service of Henry Montague-Smythe.

At first things went well for Mary, she was chirpy and carried out her duties diligently and thoroughly. Her spriteliness and cheerful demeanor however served to be her undoing, attracting the attention of the Master of the house. It wasn’t long before her duties had been expanded to include satisfying sexual urges of Montague-Smythe, who revelled in his insatiable desire for the girl, often spending nights with her when the Mistress of the house was visiting her relatives in Plymouth.

It was on the return, unexpectedly of the Lady of the house, from one such visit that exposed the clandestine philandering of her husband that had led to mary’s current predicament. Montague maintained to the local authorities that Mary had been stealing food and items from the house, smuggling them back to her poverty stricken family. Consequently found guilty with out defence she was convicted and sentence to be deported to Botany Bay, a Penal Colony recently set up in the newly discovered Australia. Ironically she as were most of the young women so convicted, expected to serve as ‘breeding stock’ for the colonists already located there.

The row moved slowly up the gangway. Ahead of her she noticed a girl about her age stumble backwards. The elder woman behind her catching her fall and steadying her till she regained her balance smiled and appeared to say something, which Mary could not hear for the chanting and jeering. A potato hit her on the head bouncing to the floor in front of her. A quick witted girl, bent and retrieved it quickly, biting into it, it was the first solid food she had tasted in days.
Move along there’, a guard barked pushing Mary forward again, the clanking of the smithy diminishing now as her foot boarded the gangplank. Looking up at the row of fellow prisoners she looked back at the people on the dock. ‘Would she ever see England again’, she thought to herself. The reality was slim but it was not wholly impossible.

She climbed the wooden walkway and gave her name to the Ship’s Master who was checking an inventory. ‘Next… Name.. ‘, he called in a cold monotone voice as Mary was lead below to join the rest of the cargo.

 

[ariosto]

.

 

[ariosto]

Lord Nicholas Boothe


He tried hard not to think of the apointment as an exile exactly but rather a temporary overseas vacation to allow the passions stirred up by the scandal with Princess Aemilia to cool down a bit.
And a lot of cooling could be done in the five years the Colonial Secretary had informed him the apointment was for.
His father had been no help at all. The ex PM had looked his wayward son right in the face and told him that if he stayed in London he'd no doubt be called out and shot by half a dozen outraged parties and besides this might make a man of him. Something that he had failed to do in over three decades of trying.
Realising his days in Merry England were numbered in double digits, Nicholas engaged in a round of whoring and revelry that rivaled Caligula's!
Two of the doxies he'd lavished untold guinea's on were his companions on this last carriage ride. They and the dour faced clerk Cornelius Sperles, the choice of Father and King to do the actual running of the colony since no one credited Nicholas with an iota of bureacratic aptitude.

The carriage rolled to a stop at the foot of a gangway leading up to small, sleek square rigger. The Fair Wind is it? Boothe thought leaning out the window.
"Ohhh Nicky, ain't she pretty!?"
Clara the blond leaned far over his lap and he sighed thinking that this might be the last time he'd hold a feminine body on his lap in a very long time.
Mauve, the dark quiet one poked him and gestured out the other window.
"At least you want be lonely M'Lord."
Nicholas looked and gasped in surprise for a long line of women stood waiting to board.
True some were ugly as a bucket of rusted nails and for most the word plain would be a compliment but there were a few his practiced eye discerned that might be ripe for a governmental favor or two.

"Lord Boothe"
Sperles' hatchet face appeared in the doorway of the carriage.
"I have all the trunks unloaded and have engaged some porters to carry them aboard. We sail within the hour."
He cast a doleful look at the governor's companions.
"I beleive it's time to say goodbye M'Lord."



OOC...Lord Nicholas Boothe recently appointed governor of
the colony has a reputation as a notorious rakehell. His connections to the Royal family have become an embarassment and now he's being sent into a sort of servitude himself.
He's a handsome man, not to tall but broad shouldered and strongly framed. His hair is dark and worn long, his eyes a strange shade of hazel green.
He'll be 36 years old in ten days.

 

[SexyChele]

Lisbeth walked up the wooden walkway, her eyes focused on the masts towering over the ship. The brisk wind whipped against her body, causing her to shiver against the chill. Lisbeth stumbled on the wooden planks and almost took a tumble. Regaining her balance, she realized she had to watch the walkway in front of her, rather than staring up at the sky.

When she reached the top, rough hands from the crew grabbed at her body, pulling over the ship's side. It was not lost on Lisbeth that the sailors held her body longer than necessary - indeed one even rubbed his dirty, smelly body against hers and her stomach rebelled at the thought. With a laugh and a smack to her backside, Lisbeth was sent on her way, her cheeks flaming at the indignation.

She discovered once on board, that the line moved very slowly as the other prisoners were dragged over the edge. Lisbeth watched as the crew laughed and ridiculed some of the prisoners, and watching their hands stray along the bodies of the prettier female prisoners.

The thought suddenly struck Lisbeth that more fear would stem from the abuse of the crew towards the prisoners than the fear of death. Her heart almost ceased beating as she watched the grimy sailors, their crude language filling the air, the thought of them touching her in an intimate way.

"Aye, that there must be the Cap'n himself! Bah!"

Lisbeth turned to the old woman next to her, and saw her face was upturned to the quarterdeck. Following her gaze, Lisbeth could make out the figure of a man standing as still as a statue, staring at the new arrivals. His face was in shadow, and as Lisbeth tried to look more closely, she was suddenly pushed from behind. Shuffling forward, she moved to make room for the next prisoner boarding the ship.

As she glanced about the ship, Lisbeth noticed the gaping hole which must lead directly into the hold. Down there. In that dark pit. That would be her home for the next few months. Lisbeth began to tremble, and suddenly felt as though her stomach would no longer stay in her body. She closed her eyes and fought down the feeling.

No matter what, Lisbeth was determined she would survive. She must. She had to.

 

[Snork Maiden]

'cam on move it along there you filthy pondlife scum' one of the guards barked as the slow procession of prisoners huddled together, shuffling along the orlop deck to the stairs leading into the forward hold. Many of the women were crying and a group of sailors stood leering from the quarter deck.

Mary stumbled along the wooden deck, its oak planks felt warm beneath her feet compared to the stone dock yard were they had been corralled prior to embarking and there was a faint smell of tar. Not that it concerned her, head bowed in shame and fear, avoiding the looks from both the guards who stood emotionless and cold faced and the sailors who were drawing lots on the foc'sle and laughing lewdly. Show us yer thighs love one of the sailors called out. Mary, who couldn't see to whom the call had been directed continued steadily towards the hold. The iron ankle bands bit into her heels as the woman behind her stumbled forward and she felt herself fighting to recover her own stance. A young sailor moved to help her up but was repremanded by one of the officers, The proper gentleman you are Brigg's he jeered, The sailor stepped back leaving the woman to crawl to her feet, Get up you clumsy whore or you'll be swimmin' to 'strailia he snapped.

Mary moved silently past the scalded sailor and glanced at him side ways. He was young, probably pressganged certainly no more than a fourteen or fifteen, and still fresh faced. She turned her eyes back to the planks and feet. Pausing at the foot of the steps she looked down into the hold. It wasn't totally dark, light penetrated through two sections of wood grid which formed part of the upper decking. A shove on the shoulder caused her to continue her slow march, her chain dragged and bumped as she decended into the gloomy hold, already half full of bodies. She looked around her, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dim surroundings, the air was not stale but already an odour of bodies was beginning to manifest. How much worse would it be before they arrived? If they arrived.

Finding a space near the wall of the hold she sat down and clutched her knees, she felt wretched and utterly miserable. She couldn't even begin to imagine how much worse things could get. Burying her face in her knees, she closed her eyes, the tightness forming across her chest as her eyes watered, her lip trembled, her mouth was dry and the lump in her throat jolted as she let out a small quiet sob.

 

[ariosto]

Lord Boothe


"Surely to God , the Captain doesn't expect me to live three months in a dingy closet like this!"

Sperles was directing the stowing of Boothe's trunks in the 8 by 14 foot cabin the 'Governor' would call 'home' on the voyage.
One large many paned window was set in one short side and cast a dim luminescense into the low narrow space.

"Four, m'lord more likely five months."
Nicholas looked at his clerk in disbelief.
"And what you have here is what the Captain himself enjoys. They've partitioned off his quarters and given you half."

Nicholas settled himself on the wide soft setee that would double as a bed, and leaned forward, tapping the mahogany table with his well trimmed nails.

"I wonder if I should have stayed in London Sperles, surely it wouldn't have been as bad as my father..."

"Lord Boothe, I know of five men who want to kill you and just yesterday Lady Stonington's brother came back from Dublin with the express purpose of calling you out and he's already done in a dozen for slights much less then yours."

He watched his clerk, efficiantly finishing the task of getting his possessions settled into the small space and wondered again at that long line of women and just how accessible some of those doxies might be...the pretty ones of course.
It would be a very long voyage.

"What do you know of the Captain?, You think he might enjoy a few rubbers of whist? Is he a gaming man?"

The Clerk's thin lips almost smiled.
"A gaming man sir?...Oh yes he is that.
But whist M'Lord is not his game."

 

[SexyChele]

Lisbeth

As she stepped down into the hold, Lisbeth was repulsed at what she saw. There was straw on the floor, that she presumed was to be the prisoner’s bedding. The hold was damp and cold. With very few outlets to the outside world, the cavernous hold was dim. Bodies were filling the space, and Lisbeth wondered if there would be room to breathe once everyone was loaded on board.

As they reached the floor of the hold, each prisoner was unchained from the person in front and behind them. Lisbeth shuffled across the hold, feeling the metal cuffs wounding her tender skin. Exhausted, and not willing to go to far, Lisbeth headed for a side of the ship and sank into the straw. She drew up her knees and hung her head low as fresh tears she did not realize she still had coursed their way down her cheeks. Lisbeth heard a noise next to her and quickly moved to wipe her tears on her shoulder before looking up.

There, sitting next to her was a girl about her own age. She seemed just as desolate as Lisbeth felt. She wondered what this young woman had done to arrive at such a point in life. The girl did not look at Lisbeth, however, but kept her eyes focused on the floor. Lisbeth wanted to say something, but what? She looked up at the other prisoners – all as wretched as herself. Lisbeth kicked at the straw in front of her, angry at her helplessness. She noticed from the corner of her eye that the woman next to her glanced at her, but Lisbeth felt fresh tears spring to her eyes and she wanted none here to know she sat there crying.

They could hear the movements of the crew above them. Feet running, shouts and curses, the sound of rope being dragged across the deck. Lisbeth looked up in horror. This was it – they were really going to leave! Somehow, foolishly, she had hoped there would be a last minute reprieve and she could escape this fate. Now she knew her fate was sealed.

The ship took odd lurches that unsteadied those prisoners attempting to stand or walk around. Lisbeth had not ever been on a ship before, and not knowing what was going on above her was truly frightening to her. Then, the thought of the water – deep and dangerous – below caused a new fear to creep into her being. Suddenly, almost as if by magic, a demon seemed to grab the ship and pull it forward. At her sudden glance upwards, a nearby prisoner laughed at her.

“Ne’er been on a ship afore, have ye, lass? Them’s the sails they just let up. Wind is fillin’ ‘em, causing this ‘ere tub to start on her acursed journey!”

His laugh was almost more than she could bear. Shuddering at his words, she felt the ship rise and fall. She felt slightly dizzy at the feel, and her stomach began to rebel. It was good thing she had not put anything into it. Several prisoners began to moan, and as the ship swelled and pitched, some let out cries of fear and surprise.

Suddenly, the entrance of crew in the hold arrested their attention. Steadily they went from prisoner to prisoner, and Lisbeth craned her neck to see what they were about. As they neared, she could see they were undoing the wrist cuffs. Guess they figured none would be foolish enough to try to run to their deaths in the see with the leg shackles. Well, it would be nice to have her wrists free.

As the crew approached, they stopped before Lisbeth and the woman sitting next to her. Their stares made Lisbeth uncomfortable for she knew that look well enough.

“Well, what do we have ‘ere? Who would ‘ave known we’d have a couple of pretties down ‘ere?” One crewmember leered.

“Yeah, but they do need a good cleanin’, wouldn’t ya say? Damn, but this whole place stinks!” the other one replied.

“Ha! You’ll find you get used to it, bein’ down ‘ere every day! You know, the Cap’n, he’s always lookin’ for a bit to keep him entertained. Word is that the new governor might like a pretty or two as well. Could be, we just keep quiet and let ourselves have a go at these two!”

“You sons of pigs! Isn’t it enough that we are prisoners on this filthy ship? I’ll wager you’ll not find me as easy prey as you anticipate!” Lisbeth spat out the words before thinking through what she should say.

The slap to her face came quick and fast, and for a moment Lisbeth’s world went dark. She shook her head, desperately trying to keep hold on consciousness. She heard the woman next to her whisper softly.

“Please, be careful what you say!”

Before she could glance at the woman, one of the crew had grabbed Lisbeth’s hair and forced her to look up at him. The stench from his body almost caused Lisbeth to faint, yet she steadied herself.

“Look ‘ere, you little whore! Ye’ll be singing a different tune in short time, me thinks!” He laughed as he released her hair, and pulled her forward. Bending over, he quickly undid the cuffs around her wrists before shoving her back roughly against the wall. Lisbeth rubbed her wrists while dimly aware that they did the same to the woman next to her.

“Yes, we shall have to tell the Cap’n about you two, we will!”

Laughing, they walked onto the next prisoner.

“Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

Lisbeth turned to the woman, amazed that she should care what happened to her. As she peered into her face, she saw a beauty and innocence behind the grime they all had. It had been so long since anyone had been kind to Lisbeth, she almost didn’t know how to respond. Clearing her throat, she continued to look at the woman.

“Yes, I’m fine. Takes much more than that to hurt me.” Lisbeth sighed deeply, and wrapped her knees into her arms. “I’m Lisbeth, in case you’re interested. Mind if I ask what your name might be?”

 

[BigDawg69]

It was a typical dreary London day. Clouded over and gray, a spit of rain dampened the world around Captain Jonathon Pithe’s vessel early and then subsided as the cargo arrived. Pithe had grown to hate London and everything about it. It was cold, rainy, the people dark and miserable. The dirty crowded streets teamed with low-lifes destined for a trip on his very own prisoner ship. The “nobility” was never noble. They were too caught up in each other’s scandals and affairs to have a real existence. He detested the burgeoning working class with their constant woes and cries of mistreatment, how trite.

Pithe stood atop the mid-deck and overlooked the ritual of loading the cargo. A long parade of the pathetic and disgusting shuffled their shackled feet across his decks and into his hold. How he detested this day. Soon the wind would fill his sails and they would leave England and it’s mockery of a government. On the open sea, Pithe was king and that’s exactly how he liked it. Everyone on-board his ship did as Pithe beckoned. Some may say he is evil, the devil himself. Strict is a better word to describe this battle-hardened sea captain.

Pithe had been a triumphant captain in the Royal Navy before mistaken identity had lead to his discharge. Since then he had managed to buy this the Faire Wind and turned quickly to the very profitable shipping of prisoners to Australia. Pithe ran a tight crew. His orders were carried out no questions asked, or the consequences were dealt swift and dire. His cargo was a live and dangerous one. His own safety and that of his ship depended on his command, and the strict enforcement of it. Pithe had no friends. Even his first mate that had been making this voyage with him for five years, hated his guts.

No one dared to cross Capt. Pithe. He stood a commanding six feet five inches tall with very broad shoulders. Pithe towered easily of almost every man. His dark hair waved atop his head. His ice blue eyes peered from behind thick dark eyebrows. Some folklore among prisoners perpetuated by the crew held that a steely glare from beneath Pithe’s heavy brow would reduce even the bravest soul to a heap of tears.

As the last prisoner shuffled below decks, Pithe ordered the shorelines cast and the sails readied. Sailors dashed about his decks and rigging. Slowly theFaire Wind eased from her moorings and moved toward open waters. Pithe moved back to the wheel and stood off to the side as the first mate navigated through London Harbor. Barking more orders, sailors responded quickly and the mains were lifted into place. Billowing out the sails filled with the easterly breeze and pulled the ship to sea.

“Don’t forget ye special guest, Captain.” Drolled the Scottish first mate, Mr. Wallace.

“Don’t remind me, Mr. Wallace. I’d just as soon prefer the noble weren’t aboard.” Pithe scowled back. “Release the wrists!” Barked Pithe and two sailors disappeared into the hold.

The ship began to rise and fall with the sea as she cut her way south away from England. Pithe took a few steps to the stern rail and looked back at the gray mass of the island empire. “Good riddance to ye, England. We’re now in my empire.”

“Captain Pithe!” A young boy called out as he topped the ladder to the wheel deck.

Pithe ignored the boy and leaned down on his long strong arms, watching his hated homeland grow faint in the cloudy day.

“Captain Pithe!” The boy yelled louder as he approached even closer. Pithe continued to ignore the cries as he gritted his teeth at the boy’s high-pitched wail.

“CAPTAIN PITHE!” The boy yelled almost at the Captain’s side.

Pithe wheeled quite quickly around, swinging his large hand and smacking the boy with the back of his knuckles across the boy’s young face. The force of the blow twisted the boy’s head sideways and almost lifted him from his feet knocking him back across the deck. The boy laid on the deck, turning his face slowly to the large captain a drop of blood oozing from the corner of his mouth, a tear dropping from the corner of his eye.

“Don’t ever scream at the Captain boy.” Mr. Wallace said as he picked the boy up from the neck of his shirt.

“And don’t cry, if ye don’t want another smack.” Growled Pithe.

The boy stood shakily in front of the towering dark Pithe. His knees quivered in fear as the captain glared down at him.

“Well!” Barked Pithe, “What is it?”

“Sir?” Choked out the boy.

“What is it you were wanting, then?”

“Oh yes sir.” The boy’s voice cracked with fear. “Uhm sir sorry to bother you, but Lord . . .”

“WHAT!” Bellowed Pithe. “WHO?”

“Sir, yes um Lord . . .”

“There is NO lord but that of God in Heaven BOY!” Pithe leaned down to the boy, his deep voice booming out across the decks. “Do you speak of the gentleman?”

“Uhm Yes sir.”

“Then address him as Mister, or Sir. There will be NO LORD on my ship!” Pithe leaned even closer, into the boys quivering face, “Is that quite clear?”

“Yes sir, captain sir. No Lord sir.”

“Good then, what does this gentleman want?”

“Uhm sir he requests your presence, sir.”

Pithe stood straight his hair being blown by the wind. “He does, does he? Well boy, you tell the gentleman that I shall see him at dinner and no sooner.”

The boy looked cautiously up at the commanding captain. Pithe flipped his fingers at the boy who turned and ran off. “Should like to see me indeed.” Pithe muttered under his breath as he turned back to the stern rail.

 

[Snork Maiden]

Mary Beth Wilkes, sat huddled, miserably in the dark dank hold of the prison transport ship HMS Faire Wind. For her it seemed her life had ended the moment she had boarded the ship, she had no future, she could see no future, she expected she would never set foot on dry earth again. All in all, a pretty depressing lot. She tried hard to remember the faces of her brothers and younger sister, her sobbing increased slightly with the realisation that even her happier memories were failing and failing fast. She managed to picture the green plains around the village she had spent nearly the whole of her life, slowly trying to add detail, the old willow that over hung the brook, the small croft of Samuel Tutt, it was a pastiche, neither real or surreal. Eventually she just gave up.

At first she was unaware that the ship had weighed anchor, but as the ship reached the open water of the Bristol Channel heading out towards the Atlantic she became aware of the gentle rolling as the ship rose in the water. She was aware also that there was something going on in the hold and peered through her fingers into the dim room.

A couple of salts were walking around removing the fastenings from the prisoners’ wrists. Slowly they made there way through the manifest until it was her turn. “Ere Girl, give us yer 'ands”, one of them said gruffly. Before she had a chance to raise them, a hand snatched at the chain hanging between her wrists pulling it up sharply.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaah”, she cried out as the second jolted her arms unexpectedly. “Quit yer noise, bitch”, the man commanded, “Or you'll stay chained for the 'ole journey”.

Quietly Mary sat with her head bowed, whilst the men worked the fastenings free. The shackles dropped from her wrists provided her with welcome relief.

“Yer sup'osed to say thank you, you ungrateful whore”, the first of the two men said sarcastically, the abusive comments flying thick and fast, to her as her hands returned to her knees. Putting his hand under her chin he pulled it up forcing her to stare him in the eyes. “You 'ear wat I said..”

“'Th.. th.. thank you”, Mary mumbled quietly, blinking the tears from her eyes and sniffing.

“Ere Bert, here's a pretty sheath to bury yer bay'net in”, the man said lustily.

Mary dropped her face,

“Yer right ther’ Bill, and this one's a pretty too, looks like she'd make a comfy glove, Hahh hah”, the second responded as he tended to the girl sat next to her.

Mary gauged she was about the same age as herself but unlike herself, she seemed more self assured, returning the verbal abuse that her tormentors were issuing, with a sharp witted tongue.

She felt the slap, even though it wasn’t her face being struck. The sound resounding in her ears as one of the sailors brutally clapped his open hand across the young woman’s face.

“Please be careful with what you say”, Mary whispered to her, genuinely concerned for the girls wellbeing, I fear they have no regard for any off us, if we live or die'

The girl’s head shook the daze from the assault, but before she could recover fully the same sailor grasped her by the hair viciously pulling her from her seated position and continued to chastise her. Finally, releasing her, she sank back to her resting position, clutching her knees and sobbing.

The sailors moved off and Mary ventured to ask the girl if she was ok.

The girl confirmed that she was, and told Mary her name, Lisbeth

'Hi I'm Mary Beth, I guess we have at least one thing in common save our bad luck to be stuck in this hole, I'm from Wells originally though I doubt I'll see it ever again.'

She looked at the girl, she was indeed beautiful, 'Such a waste she thought to herself trying to imagine what terrible crime she could have committed to be condemned to this misery. Remembering her own injust sentence she realised that it was probably nothing more than a trivial offence'

'It's nice to meet you, Lisbeth. Are you really sure you're ok?', Mary continued observing the red welt that was spreading across the girl's face.

 

[afternooner]

Riley

Riley loooked down at the sailor who was unchaining him. I could smash him to smiterines with just one of my hands he thought...at 6' 4" tall and 240 pounds his neck and shoulder muscles bulging there was no doubt that he could. At 50 he was just as strong and quick as most at 20. His matt of black hair blending into his face fully bearded and then through his massive chest to his firm stomach, gave him the look of a huge bear.

No use to though, he surmised, just cause a ruckus that the rest of this miserable lot didn't need. Better he control his Irish temper.

Actually when Riley was sober he was a rather mild bloke it was just when he had too much ale or liker that he became a bully and that was why he was on this ship. The noblilty, as Riley called them, spitting out the word along with a gob of mucus from his throat, had gotten tired of putting up with his drunken rages. locking him up and then unlocking him almost weekly. dealing with the broken bones and bloodyeyed Bobbies he left in his wake as they carted him off to jail time and time again. As far as he was concerned it was every limey bastard that was to blame for his misfortune the whole lot of them with their high minded prudeness, bannishing their own as well as any furineers they didn't want to look at, get em out of sight out of mind.

Well that was fine by him, he could handle any hell hole ship that they put him on and any godforsaken Island they sent him to.He rubbed his wrists as the shackles fell to the floor.

He looked around and smiled. A straw bed he was used to that. A hint of the smell of food from the galley and pleasant enough company, several comely wenches and children playing, unable to comprehend their plight. he turned to a young woman next to him and rubbing his grimy hand on his equally grimy pants stuck it out to her.

"My names Riley he announced, whats yours"

 

[Mayas_Fury]

Enter the Maelstrom... Morrigan "Maelstrom" Granger

The loose, cream tunic fluttered in the slight, salt-ladened breeze, held tight to a trim waist by a thick belt. Short, inky strands tickled ear tips despite the sanguin cloth secured above a stern brow. Softly tanned leather gripped iron thighs beneath the worn and well fit black boots that reached inches above the knee. A gently curved sabre hung expectantly from a hip that matched it's form, it, by no means was pristine nor remotely unused. Deep, olive skin marred by apparent years of battle and hardship wept for want of shade from the unforgiving sun. Slate blue eyes that rivaled the sky of an ocean tempest hung masked by thick lashes as they scruitinized the harbor and ships contained within.

"Captain, we've secured all of the fresh supplies in the hold. There are two brothers who've recently come of age.. em.. their parents wish to speak with you about an apprenticeship for either or both of them. I informed them of your rules concerning such, they nearly insisted that you, and you alone be the one to.. em.. school them in the ways of the sea. Such a curse is your fame, no?" This brought a soft chuckle from the both of them. "Now, as for our current crew, we've experienced a slight..."

The swamp-thick brogue fell from her lips quickly silencing him in mid sentence. Her heavy aura weighted the air around the whole of her 5'11" form as she straightened.

"Kalen, y'bore me. Granted y'may be right fine of a lover, but let me 'ave my peace with the waves eh? If y'can't 'andle the scugs, then o'course I'll do the 'onors, other than that, y're the first mate, all the details are shyte I'd rather nae wade in."

The storms of her eyes softened as they met his, tiger shark within silenced at the merest view of the way he stood reserved in her presence. Then most men did for fear of awakening a fury of this nature. Lean lengths of muscle shifted beneath skin and shirt as she braced the generous length of her body on the handcarved stern-railing of Siren Song. Finding something beyond his gentle, tousled appearance, eagle vision honed in on two simple words, "Faire Wind".

"We'll take the brothers, 'ave them dressed and brought to me cabin afore cookie prepares evenin' meal."

He nodded, a reserved sigh preceded extremely hesitant words.

"Of course, my Captain."

Turning to leave, and clearing his throat, he quickly swirled about, hopeful at her next words.

"Kalen, find more about this ship, Faire Wind. I know it, but I can't exactly recall why?"

A dutiful nod, a click of his heels, neither did anything to hide his disappointment. Perhaps he was not to share her bed this eve, then she rarely tired easily. Remembering the numerous instances in which she was brought from the holds below deck to appease Captain Aryc's infamous and nearly insatiable temper. He would remain in optimism, as it eased his worry to recall how he alone seemed to fulfill similar needs in her.

"As you wish."

 

[ariosto]

"Feeling better m'lord?"
Sperles held the blue china basin beneath Boothe's green face as the ship rolled into the chop of the Irish Sea.
The governor wretched weakly and nodded. There was nothing more left in him to discharge.
Overhead the infernal pounding went on and on.

"What in bloody hell IS that!"
He stabbed a finger at the low planked ceiling.

"The Captain...Captain Pithe is a very big man. In the habit of pacing the quarterdeck I fear."
Sperles placed the bowl on the floor but conveniant to his master's needs.

"He says, m'lord that he will see you at dinner and not before."
Nicholas shot up.
"He said what!?"

The clerk smiled thinly,
"At supper sir. The captain apparently puts little stock in rank or subserviance to his betters."

Boothe staggered over to the dim mirror that hung above his wash basin and slicked back his hair.
"A coat Sperles...the Forest green I think...yes that's right. Perhaps I'll go on deck now and pay the ill bred bastard my respects."

They opened the cabin door and were hit immediately by the foul reek of vomit and human refuse. Nicholas blanched and staggered. Sperles caught his arm.
"The convicts sir, a wretched lot."

"Where are they, for god's sake! The stench is unbearable."
The Clerk led him down a narrow ladder to a dungeonlike alcove where one of the ships crew, a ragged dirty man named Severs stood watch beside a locked door.
The atmosphere was claustrophobic, oppresive and with every pitch and roll of the ship the timbers creaked and strained, threatening in Booth's imagination to spring apart at any instant and send them to the bottom.

"Open the door man."
Sperles tone was authoratative, sharp.
"'Ere now, I ain't thinkin' I will."
The sailor cast them both a suspicious look.

The tall clerk collared him and jerked him to his feet.
"This is the Governor of the Penal Colony of Botony Bay. He wishes to see his charges...
Now open the fucking door."

Severe's paled and fumbled for a key.
"'Ere you better take this." He handed him a lantern, " It's like pitch in there and ya better walk careful...they've 'ad their shakles struck."

It took him a moment to get used to the shadowy darkness...what light there was filtered down from an overhead grate, casting wan bars of illumination over the faces of the wretched human 'cargo'.
The noise quieted as Nicholas and Sperles made their way through...It became silent as a tomb save for the workings of the ship and the cries of the crew overhead.
"Well lookie there! Ain't 'ee the proper gentleman? 'Ey Governor I'll let yer poke me cunnie for a shillin'!"
The hold erupted in laughter and catcalls.

"This is the womens quarters m'lord. The men are housed forward." The clerk cut his way through the milling prisoners like a schooner through the sea.
Boothe didn't need to be told that.
His eyes had settled on a comely slight young woman with dark brown hair who,looked as though she'd just been crying, yet met his gaze boldly.

He turned to his clerk,
"Get her name Sperles, have her in my cabin tonight. I feel....restless.
Now for godsake let's get out of here. I want to meet this captain Pitt, Pithe...whatever the hell he calls himself..."

 

[SexyChele]

Lisbeth

Lisbeth rubbed her cheek where she had been slapped. She looked at the woman next to her, and managed smile.

"Well, pleased it is I am to meet you, Mary Beth. And, yes, we have seemed to have fallen into the same ill fortune. Though I can't say I wouldn't have done it again. Wealthy bastard was going to cheat me!"

Lisbeth glanced at what had fast become her closest companion here.

"Ah, it's alright. There's worse places to be sent, I'll wager. Wells you say? Well, I ain't never been outside of London, 'cept for now. Though never thought I'd miss the grime and stench of the city until now."

Lisbeth rubbed her cheek and pushed against her jaw. As she did, she heard Mary Beth ask a question.

Are you really sure you're ok?

Lisbeth braved a smile at the young woman. She was obviously a country girl, somehow winding up in this hell, yet unaccustomed to the ways of a crueler world. Her cheek burned, but the pain was letting up.

"What? This here that bloke gave me? Aw, tis nothing! Me own mother, rest her soul, used to hit me much harder than that."

Right away, Lisbeth could see she had said the wrong thing, as the young woman's eyes seemed to widen in the gloom. Reaching out to pat her hand, Lisbeth put her at her ease.

"Yes, I will be fine, Miss Mary Beth. No damage done, except for a bit of wounded pride."

Suddenly, Lisbeth felt a presence next to her. A big, hulking man, looking more like a bear than a man. Black hair and beard, and just grimey as the rest of those in the hold. With a grace that belied his bulk, he sat down next to her.

My names Riley he announced, whats yours?

Lisbeth stared at the man for just a moment, before her thoughts could return to her. Looking down at his hand, she took it hesitantly, shocked at how he grabbed it.

"Me name is Lisbeth, and this here be Mary Beth. But you are supposed to be with the men - how did you manage to find yourself here?"

Before he could answer, the door to the hold opened and a lantern appeared. All went suddenly quiet as a man who was obviously of the aristocracy came down the steps. Crude jokes were bantered about, and laughter at this man's expense ran through the hold.

He walked the length of the hold, obviously unused the smell of the lower classes and stepped around people as though he would catch whatever it was that had sank them into this lowly position. Lisbeth lowered her head, not wishing to be noticed. Her heart nearly stopped as she saw his fine leather shoes stop in front of her. Glancing up hesitantly, she was almost relieved when she noticed his glance fell to Mary Beth. His words, however, sent a chill through her spine.

Being taken to this man's cabin could not bear well for the sweet country lass sitting next to her. As quickly as he came he left, leaving a trail of laughter behind him.

Lisbeth quickly looked at Mary Beth, but was unable to read her face. She placed her hand on the young woman's shoulder in an attempt at sympathy.

"There, there, will you be alright, luv? Dirty scum - thinking we are here just to satisfy his carnel desires!"

Lisbeth heard the man named Riley next to her curse all of the aristocracy under his breath. She had to agree with him in her heart.

 

[Snork Maiden]

Surprised by her comment, Mary Beth looked at the woman comforting her. The air was thick and stale filled with the odour of bodies. Several of the other women had already succumbed to the motion of the ship and the air also now carried the acid stench of their convulsions.

A large hulking shadow loomed beside Lisbeth and Mary Beth watched as it bent foward to touch the woman lightly. He had a Irish accent and introduced himself to Lisbeth befores sitting down next ot her. Lisbeth introduced herself and Mary to the man and before engaing in conversation with him.

Mary Beth wasn't listening to them however, her attention was drawn to the shaft of light that appear through the cargo hatch as it opened. Instantly the people around it crowded forward to grasp a few lung fulls of the fresh sea air. "Get back yer scum", the sailor barked, kicking one woman to the floor as she crane her neck up the stairs to the light and air.

Mary Beth could make out two well dressed men entering and they were instructing the sailor charged with guarding the hold. The sailor handed a lantern to one of the men and she followed it as it moved out of the light into the darkness, floating like a will o' the wisp. The hatch closed and the shaft of light dimished like a narrowing beam until it was no more.

The lantern bobbed around the hold as the two men wandered through the huddled groups of women. The flame flickered inside its glass casing casting shadows onto their faces, exaggerating the lines of their cheeks and jaws as they peered at the women.

The light moved towards the place where she sat. She squinted as the lantern was lowered before her, the flame warmed her tear stained face but blinded her so that she could not make out the faces peering back at her. "get her name Sperles", the man holding the lantern barked to his companion before with drawing the lantern from her face.

"What's your name girl", the man asked, his voice less harsh than the other. "Mary, Mary Beth Wilkes... Sir", she replied, remembering the brutal treatment recently applied to Lisbeth for
her rebelious comments. 'W..why do you ask, Sir?'

There was no reply, the man rose and turned walking from the hold, there was a loud roar of laughter before the hatch was opened and the two men exited. The doors slammed shut.

Huddling in her knees again, she pondered over the question. In her heart she half suspected the intent and this concerned her more deeply than any could have imagined.

Mary felt a hand on her shoulder, it was Lisbeth, looking at her sympathetically, "There, there, will you be alright, luv? Dirty scum - thinking we are here just to satisfy his carnel desires!"

'B.. b.. But he can't', Mary started to sob, 'he.. he just can't.. it's not......, I.. I'm not..., it's not...' her voice faltered and she buried her head in her knees and burst into tears.

She would be flogged for sure or worse she knew it. She remembered the time Montague-Smythe had forced himself upon her whilst she was attending to the bedlinen. She had tried to warn him but he would not listen until it was to late. She had received such a beating for her 'bloody filthy state' as he had put it.

She sat trembling, wishing the ship would just swallow her up

 

[BigDawg69]

Captain Pithe paced across the quarterdeck. His long black coat was blowing about his strong legs as his heavy footfalls pounded a slow rhythm. He clasped his hands behind him, Pithe snarled at the thought of transporting the aristocracy. He wondered if the doubling of his normal fee would be worth the hassle of the spoiled inbred blue blood who now occupied half of his cabin.

The sky turned a darker gray as the sun began it’s descent. Pithe had hoped they would break through the weather for a starry fist night at sea. He stood at the stern now scanning the horizon. There would be no stars; this dreary London weather would plague him for at least one more day. As he scanned the horizon his keen eye noticed a schooner to the stern. It made a steady course toward him. Pithe studied the outline of the ship through the gray mist. He thought he recognized her shape, but he could not place her. Pithe put the slowly following vessel from his mind, as he knew no pirates would dare come this far north.

“Captain?” Mr. Wallace approached from the wheel, “The cook has prepared dinner sir.”

“Aye, then we shall eat.” Pithe growled back, “Have a watch placed on the schooner to the stern. I don’t like to be followed.”

“Aye sir. Does ye want to change carse a bit. See if dey follow?”

“No I want to get to warmer waters. It is likely a faster boat, so if she closes, ready the men.”

“Aye sir.” Mr. Wallace turned to walk away.

“I have a bad feeling about tis.” Pithe stopped him. “Stay the course, we’ll watch her through the night.”

Pithe walked past Mr. Wallace and headed down the steep stairs to his mess. Pithe boomed through the door into the small dining room. A long table anchored to the floor filled most of the room. Hurricane lanterns glowing bright swung overhead with the rolling of the ship casting deep and strange shadows. Pithe settled at the end of the table grabbing a goblet of red wine from the steward. He raised the goblet and swilled down half of its contents, allowing some of the wine to trickle down his chin.

“Where’s this gentleman?” Pithe asked the steward. Who shook his head in silent reply. “Well get him, if he wants to eat. I wait for no man.” Pithe sat back in his large chair plucking a dinner roll from the stack in front of him. Dipping the roll in his wine, Pithe bit the end off and chewed his soaked roll.

“Mr. Wallace!” Pithe boomed from his chair.

Mr. Wallace came through the door almost instantly and stood for a moment before making to sit down.

“Wait. I want you to get the sailors who released the wrists. Bring them to me, now. I shall want some company after dinner.”

“Aye sir.” Mr. Wallace backed from the dining room onto the decks. Pithe could here his orders called out and then echoed through the ship.

Pithe sat for a moment in silence. The shadows cast from the oil lamps swayed across the table, and yet his face remained mostly hidden, guarded by darkness.

“Cook!” He bellowed.

The swinging doors to his side flew open and two men brought in large serving bowls filled with stew and potatoes. Each placed the bowls in front of the captain. Pithe quickly dished himself heaping helpings from each of the steaming bowls. He filled his fork with a load of stew and began his meal alone.

 

[ariosto]

"I beleive I am to dine with you captain."

Lord Boothe stood in the cabin doorway doing his best to master the bitter gall that burned at the base of his throat and threatened to erupt with every corkscrew roll of the vessel.

Pithe beckoned him to a chair at the opposite end of the table.
"Sit down Governor. We eat promptly at four bells of the dog watch...your late."

Nicholas sat down quickly, and looked over the array of covered dishes and the mass of steaming food on Pithe's plate. Did the man say they were eating four balls of the dog!...was this the salty vernacular of the sea or were they really...going to eat...!
The ship rolled suddenly and he grabbed the table to keep from flying through the stern windows.

The Master laughed and popped another wine soaked bisquit in his mouth, it ran like blood down his jutting chin.
"New to the sea are you?
Well even blue blood will get salty on this voyage Mister Boothe."

Nicholas was feeling to weak to rally to the slight and instead summoned up what he could of a smile.
"Indeed Captain... Quite new...I fear. A bit of sailing on the Severn...is all, I..."
He let it trail off.

Pithe laughed and sent the decanter of wine sliding the length of the table. Somehow Boothe caught it and looked into it's murky clouded depths...vile stuff...sure to send his stomach into his mouth.
"Perhaps Captain you'll allow me to send for a bottle of excellent Madeira that I brought with me. It might go well with...uhhh...what we're having.
My clerk is just outside the door."

"By all means governor...let's drink your precious vintage, you'll be happy with my swill soon enough."

This was not going well at all.
After summomning Sperle to the door and sending him to fetch the wine, Boothe sat back down, determined to make a new start.
"I saw some comely wenches come aboard Captain. One of them a uhhh.....Mary Beth Welles...Wilkes...whatever, I've decided shall be my whore tonight."

Pithe looked at him sharply.
"Damn their names to hell and a pox on them all. Use them as you wish...Mi'Lord"...he fairly spit the last word out.

Silence hung heavy in the cabin. The lantern swayed drunkenly above their heads.

"I ahhh..see that the table is set for more than you and I. Are we expecting others?"
Nicholas made a last effort at civility.

"Indeed we are governor. I think you'll enjoy my guests a great deal. And don't get to wrapped up in the slut's charms tonight. We're expecting another guest and we have a special surprise for her.

Overhead the rumble of the cannons being put into position sounded like thunder.

 

[Mayas_Fury]

"Pithe!! It 'ad to be 'im! Scorge, 'e'll recognize Aryc's ship for certain."

A flood of recongnition opened her mind. She caught clear flashes of days, weeks, months spent in the wretched squallor of those holds. Hands absently massaged her wrists. She yet felt the weight of the iron shackles that bound her to the will of whomever's filthy grasp the chain resided within. At least when she'd been bartered to Siren Song she'd managed to work her way into Aryc's favor. She spent less time below in refuse and increasingly longer hours in his bed, though in hind-sight she was unsure which had actually been the worse.

The storm of her eyes swelled as they followed the seat of her distress across the blackened waves, snapping her harshly back into the present. Her bemused countenance turned back regarding the two disrobed young lads strewn over her bed amidst the flurry of linens. The thin canvas beneath the smaller of the two seeped with the rich crimson of his blood. The flesh of his back rended from his bones by the harsh tines of her favorite cat-o'-nine-tails. His labored breath came with difficulty as he slept, his brother thankfully hadn't spent quite so easily. Calloused fingers traveled over the paleness of an abdomen not yet touched by the sun. The flaccid length of his manhood lay tauntingly near her hand.

"Y'll bake soon enough. Then we'll see 'ow long y'remain so pretty."

A gentle knock at her chamber door released her attention from previously virgin flesh.

"Aye? What?"

Her displeasure faded quickly, ah, Kalen. Fair breeze and the only man who currently brought any ease to her restless body, someone smiled upon her.

His eyes fell upon the pitiful heap that lay motionless on her bed. A stirring in his loins prompted therafter by a glance to her unclothed form, every solid inch of her lean, sculpted. Despite the scarring that marred her flesh, she was quite a prize. Pride swelled his chest that he alone made her feel such a woman.

"They did not quite last as long as you'd hoped, my Captain?"

Long strides carried her the the porthole, her window to the watery landscape that consumed her. He still winced at the sight of the long since healed lash markings that littered the expanse of her back. Still she stood resolute, nothing could break her he felt.

"Remove them, tend their wounds if they last the night through. As for the Faire Wind, tell the watch to be mindful. And we'll remain distant, I want to follow not alarm. Return when all is well, I've work for ye."

"As you wish..." His pause allowed him a moment to grip the door handle before giving her a gaze of wanton longing. Voice a mere whisper as he slipped out onto the deck. "...Morrigan."

Her stolid posture remaining as the door was pulled gently to.

"Well Jonathon, come the next port, we'll see if y'remember me well enough."

 

[BigDawg69]

Pithe scowled at the blue blood as the wheels of the ships cannons loudly rolled across the deck above. The thunderous stumbling of feet and rolling of the cannons stirred dust from the creaking rafters that rained in spurts down on the table. Pithe ignored the dust and went about eating his food and swilling his wine. The honored guest quickly made to cover his food and still empty glass, his eyes turning to the timbers above.

“Worry ye little head not, gov’nor. These timbers are made from the finest teak in South Seas. The Faire Wind tis the strongest in the sea. No amount of rolling cannons around’ll do anything.” Pithe gruffed out with a low rolling chuckle.

The door to the small room flew open and Mr. Wallace stepped in followed by two strings of sailors. “These are the men who released the wrists, sir.” Mr. Wallace spoke as he sat at Pithe’s right side.

“Mmmm, yes.” Growled Pithe as he eyed them from over his goblet’s rim.

The two sailors stood still at the doorway. Their faces flush with white fear. Their eyes wide with wonder. Pithe sat his goblet down and looked at the two men. Their hands blackened from working the ropes and rigging, their pants ragged at the cuffs hanging inches above the ankles. Each wore shoes that looked to be a couple sizes too big. Pithe knew that soon most of his crew would stop wearing shoes altogether as they passed through the warm equatorial waters headed for the deep south.

“Get ye’selves washed up, and ye can eat here tonight.” Pithe grumbled just before shoveling another heaping spoonful of stew into his face. The two men stood silent and still. “While ye cleaning, think about the whores below. After dinner, find me the prettiest and bring her to me cabin.” The gov’nor looked up at Pithe with a look of query on his face. “Boys, find out her name.” Pithe glared at Boothe, “Leave a. . .what was the twat’s name?”

“Oh quite right, Mary Beth Wells or Wilkes or something.” Boothe piped in.

“MMmm,” Pithe grumbled, “Leave Mary Beth Wilkes for the gov’nor.”

“Aye Captain.” The men replied almost in unison.

Pithe managed a smirk at Boothe before returning to his meal. Mr. Wallace turned and looked at the two men, still standing by the door. “Go on then, lads. Get ye’selves clean so’s ye can eat.”

The two sailors turned and tossed open the door only to find Sperle standing there with a bottle of wine. The first sailor nearly knocked the poor man over. Pithe looked at Sperle with only his eyes. He watched the dance as the two sailors got by Sperle and off to wash. Sperle stepped slowly into the room and moved to pour the wine for Boothe. In a single quick move Pithe hurled a six-inch dagger across the long table that collided with Boothe’s goblet sending it careening into the wall behind. Boothe looked up at Pithe shocked his mouth agape. Sperle simply froze in place.

“Ye’ll serve ye self on me boat.” Pithe grumbled through a mouthful of food. “Tell ye man to set to bottle on the table by me, and set ‘imself for some supper.”

Sperle did not move. Boothe gulped. “Yes of course. Sperle have some supper, give the fine Captain the bottle.”

Sperle did just as directed, sitting just to Boothe’s right side. Pithe grabbed his goblet and poured its remaining contents down his throat, before filling it with the wine from Boothe’s bottle. Pithe looked at Boothe as he took a long drink. Sitting the goblet on the table, Pithe forced yet another weak smile. “This’ll do.”

The wine and food were passed about the table. Each man filled their plates and then began to fill their bellies. Boothe paused often in attempt to suppress the urge to regurgitate. His pauses usually came along side a particularly pronounced movement of the ship. Pithe finished his food and downed the last of Boothe’s wine then stood. Boothe looked up at the commanding captain. Pithe looked down at the three men, each still, each waiting for the captain’s next move. Pithe smiled to himself and stepped around the table toward the door.

“I’ll be on the quarterdeck, Mr. Wallace. Make sure them boys get their fill tonight.” Pithe slowly bent over and retrieved his dagger from the floor by Boothe. As he bent near Boothe he whispered to the man, “Enjoy your wench tonight, Boothe. Have her for a few days if ye like. If she’s any good, a tidy profit may be made in warmer waters.” Pithe stood upright and drifted through the door onto the deck.

Pithe stood on the quarterdeck overlooking the sea as it rolled by. His gaze fixed on the dancing lights from the ship to his stern. The gray day had sunk into a bleak and black night. The Faire Wind pitched with the sea, her timbers and rigging creaking as the swells rolled beneath her. Pithe held a lit pipe firm between his teeth. The slender waft of white smoke wrapped around his head before dissipating in the winds.

The sound of a lonely harmonica filled the night air. An occasional burst of laughter came from a group of sailors enjoying a smoke to the bow. Pithe enjoyed his nights a sea. He reveled in the silence that came with the darkness, the peace in the inky blackness of the sea. He seemed to be transported to another time and another place. He often remembered his first voyage to Australia. His first . . .

His countenance changed. Pithe quickly made his way to the very stern of the ship. He strained against the railing to look back at his pursuer. His eyes narrowed to slivers. He could feel her. It was Aryc’s ship and she was aboard. Anger consumed the large man. Why did she follow him now? What did she want from him? Pithe’s breathing became labored. His eyes fixed on the following ship with a steely gaze.

“Captain?” A mousy voice approached Pithe.

“Aye.” Pithe groaned not turning from the sea.

“There’s a woman in ye cabin, and a right fine one she is, sir. She’s been left with a wash basin to clean herself.”

“Aye, thanks boy.” Pithe lifted his hand and flipped his fingers. The young sailor turned and quickly left the captain alone again. Just as the boy’s head dropped Pithe wheeled around. “Sailor?”

The young head popped up from the ladder. “Aye, sir?”

“Get her some stew, and fresh water.”

“Aye sir.” The sailor disappeared once more.

‘My past haunts me in the form of a ghostly galleon to the stern.’ Pithe thought as he paced across the deck. He turned to the sea once more. Taking a long drag from his pipe, the burning embers glowing bright orange to light his face, Pithe snarled at the distant lights that dotted the sea.

 

[afternooner]

Riley

"Perhaps it's because they think I'm just a helpless old man, Riley answered the the lass who said her name was lizabeth. But rest assured I'll break the wrist of the first man who tries to take you away. They have no right to treat a young lass like you that way. Look, here, I have a little breadI scrounged up, I'd be glad to share it with you and don't fret my love, I'm sure we'll see this through." He handed her the bread and then put his hand on her shoulder reasuringly.

 

[Snork Maiden]

The afternoon passed slowly. For Mary the rolling of the boat made her uneasy, she was grateful that her stomach was empty at least; there was some benefit in not having anything to wretch up. On the other hand her stomach ached for nourishment and the cramps of hunger reminded her that things were likely not to improve.

The image of the two men earlier troubled her too, they had shown so much interested in her and her new found friend who now sat talking to the elderly Irishman, that it could only mean one thing. The one thing she knew she couldn't allow to happen, not in her current state, not at this time.

If she could have cried she would but she was all cried out. She curled up on the floor of the hold and tried to sleep, at least a sleep she could dream, or hopefully dream; and those hours of slumber would be hours less that she would have to endure in the grim reality of her dungeon.

Above her head she could hear the rumble of thunder; or was it just something been dragged over the deck? She couldn't tell there appeared to be sporadic patches of shouting and orders but she couldn't make the words out.

The boat rolled and yawed in the water more violently as the ship's course carried it out around the Cornish coastline into the Atlantic. Eventually she drifted of into a light sleep.

She was awakened by a hand roughly shaking her. "Ere you worthless tart, shake a leg the Cap'n wants you above decks." the deckhand snapped.

The sailors laughed between themselves as Mary huddled into a ball. "Look see you. Ya can walk or ya can be dragged it's your choice", the sailor continued seeing Mary's reluctance to rise.

"P...p..please Mister", she trembled her voice quiet and broken, "please don't take me up there, I can't go up there I really can't. Please don't."

"Quit yer sniveling; Bert, grab the bitch's arm, ol' Pithe I'll have us flogged if we don't deliver this whore to Lord Lardi Da's quarter's"

"Yeah, you slut I ain't taking no beatin' cause some trollop low life has an attack o' modesty, get to yer feet or it'll be the worse for yer. Ain't that right Harry?", The second sailor replied and the first nodded his agreement.

Mary looked frantically around her "Lisbeth, Lisbeth" she cried, "don't let them take me, I can't, I really can't", the young girl's face was filled with panick and terror.

Several of the women nearby started to shout at the Sailors,
"Leave be you brutes", "You have no right to treat any of us like that, leave her alone".

The first sailor turned a the large woman who had voiced her displeasure "Yer'll all mind yerselfs to stay silent. That's if yers want anyone to eat tonight. Yeah that's right you 'erd me you fat slag'

His skillful pack diplomacy instantly raising concerns from the rest of the hungry cargo, forcing the woman to stand down sitting admonished and isolated from her peers.

"Now look 'ere Mary", the sailor's voice adopting a softer tone as he attempted to change his tact. "Capain Pithe and his fine friend upstairs 'ave taken a liking to yer and they's want to say hello and be nice see yer see. So you be a good girl and come along with Harry and meself and we can all be gettin' on with our evenin". Ain't that right Harry'

"Dead right Bert me ol' chine" the first sailor

Mary sat trembling, not replying, eyeing her tormentors with caution.

"Don't look like yer soft soaping is working there Harry mate", the second sailor laughed.

"Women!", the first sailor shook his head in desperation, "should never be allowed on board ships, nothin' but truble. Well if she ain't gonna walk we'll have to drag her mis'rable ass up top."

Mary started screaming as the men dragged her forward her knees grazing on the wooden floor

'No No, let me be Let me beeeeeee.'

The second sailor slapped her hard across the face and her head hung limply on her shoulders.

"Now yer've gone knocked the silly bitch senseless, we'll both be flogged you clod", the first exclaimed.

'Let's just get up top and be done with it, I've have enuff of this cunt. Let them upstair break her in', replied the second.

Grabbing her by the shoulders and legs the two men manhandled Mary's body up the stairs to the Govenor quarters.

"just leave her on the floor", the lead sailor said as he dropped her shackled feet causing the chain to rattle. The second lowered Mary's head and then turning they left locking the door behind them. Mary lay unconscious, her knees bleeding from where the skin had been rubbed away by the decking and her face glowing from the heavy handed slap she had received.

"Guess we'll have to fetch that other one for the Cap'n now", the second sailor quipped

The two sailors sighed heavily,

"You know 'arry all I wanted was to get away from the nagging of women and to see the world and what 'appens, a damned womens prison warder I am, it just ain't right I tell ya.", the first sailor complained.

 

[afternooner]

Riley

Get behind me quick, lass I'll not be letting them take you too.

After Riley had seen them drag away Mary, he decided it was time he stood up and was counted for. he put himself betwen the open hatch and Lizbeth, vowing he'd die before he be seeing her draged up there.

 

[SexyChele]

Lisbeth looked up with shock when she felt the hand of the man next to her on her shoulder. Normally, any man who touched her only wanted one thing, and whether or not she was willing to give that up was usually of no concern to them. She hesitated slight at his touch, his words filling her soul with warmth, and allowed her head to sink onto his shoulder. He seemed strong as an ox, despite his years, and with a disposition that one could think of gentle. Yet, Lisbeth picked up a certain amount of passion just beneath this surface.

She felt the warmth of his body next to her, and realized with a certain amount of sadness the loss in her life of anyone to provide comfort. Almost with hesitation, she snuggled into his warmth, thankful that the pitch of the ship had not affected as it obviously had some of the others around her.

The hold quickly filled with the stench of the people around them, as more and more succumbed to the torturous effects of seasickness. Combined with the smell of so many unwashed bodies, it was enough to make ones sense reel. Suddenly the door to the hatch opened, and the people closest to it strained for a just a breath of fresher air. The two sailors climbing down pushed the people aside roughly as they made their way through the hold.

Lisbeth watched with a mixture of horror and fear as the two sailors came to Mary Beth, and treated this gentle creature with such force. Lisbeth was moved to intervene, when she felt herself being pulled by back. She spun around, her eyes on fire, as she met with Riley’s. He quickly pushed her behind him, his bulk hiding from view the scene of Mary Beth being dragged away. No matter how much Lisbeth tried to move around Riley, his hands kept her firmly in place.

The slap was loud enough to be heard throughout the hold, and Lisbeth felt Riley’s body tense.

“What’s happened, Riley? What is it! Please!”

“Stay where ye are. Lass!”

Soon Riley turned to Lisbeth, and pushed her towards the floor. Lisbeth’s eyes watched the hold and then looked at the space once occupied by Mary Beth, and wondered if they would ever see her again. She moved against Riley, feeling his warmth, and thankful for it. She remembered the abuse of the London prison, and obviously things were not to be much different on board this ship. She felt Riley’s arm about her, and wondered how truly safe she could be. Lisbeth closed her eyes and slept, the deepest sleep she had known in quite some time.

She was awakened by shouts and the screams of people being tossed aside.

“Aye, mother of God, but this place reeks!” One of the sailors yelled to his companions.

“What can ye expect of animals such as these?”

It was the two who had been down earlier, and Lisbeth clung to Riley. She felt Riley’s body tense at their words, and fear washed over her. They made their way to her and stood above her. She felt Riley’s hand tighten on her arm, and a feeling of dread consumed her.

“You there, whore! The Cap’n would like a word with ye!”

As one sailor reached down to grab her arm, she felt Rile move forward. She tightened her arm around his and tried to hold him back.

“Riley! No! You mustn’t! They’ll kill you!” She whispered frantically.

Almost too late as the other sailor produced a club and raised it over Riley’s head. As the sailor began to lower the club, Lisbeth moved between him and Riley, the club barely reigned in by the sailor.

“Out of the way, you bitch!”

Lisbeth glared at the sailor, even as his gaze turned to Riley.

“You shouldn’t get none too attached the whores on this ship, ye Irishman! Ye might find that ye can get any number of ‘em with the proper persuasion.”

They both laughed as they dragged Lisbeth to her feet. She looked back at Riley, pleading with him.

“Don’t worry, Riley, I’ll be fine, and I’ll be back before you know I was ever gone!”

Even as she was being pushed forward, the shackles painfully rubbing her ankles, Lisbeth kept her eyes on Riley. His body was a tense combination eager to burst forth with an energy she was afraid would harm not only the sailors but himself as well. Straining to get up the stairs, Lisbeth was half dragged, half pushed up to the next deck. Trying as hard as she could to keep up with her escort, she could feel blood trickling down her ankles and into her worn shoes. Finally, after what seemed an eternity of pain, she was ushered into a fine stateroom. It was well furnished, if a bit spartan – certainly the Captain was a man who did not believe in more than the basics of comfort.

Pushed roughly to the floor, Lisbeth sprawled before the sailors as her hands reached out to break her fall. She looked up at the sailors with a mixture of disgust and fear, and at the sound of their laughter, her anger grew.

“There’s a basin over there for you to wash the grim. The Cap’n likes his women clean as well as pretty. Also, there’s food on that table. That’s for you. The Cap’n, he likes to spoil his women – to a certain extent!”

Laughing, the sailors quickly left the room, leaving Lisbeth to consider her circumstance. She began to tremble at what was in store for her. Certainly the Captain was not planning on exchanging pleasantries with her over a drink of stout, that was to be sure. Lisbeth rose from the floor and made her way over the to the basin. She poured out water from the pitcher, and using a cloth, quickly washed her hands and face. Looking at herself in the small mirror above, she was horrified at the sight. She almost looked like a madwoman! And she felt the grime on her body as well. Quickly, she removed the basque from her waist, and undid her skirt letting it pool around her feet. Keeping an eye on the door, Lisbeth raised up the long, white underdress over her head that acted as both blouse and petticoat, and quickly washed her body. The roughness of the cloth over her nipples caused them to perk up slightly, but she tried to ignore that. She ran the cloth over her full breasts and over her waist and full hips. Although she had become thinner in prison, Lisbeth had still maintain her full figure. Finishing, she dressed quickly, not sure of the Captain’s return.

Moving slowly over to the table, Lisbeth’s senses were overwhelmed with the smell of the meal left for her. Not bothering to sit, she quickly stuffed the stew into her mouth, taking bites of bread as she did so. After the third bite, her stomach rebelled at having food for the first time after such an absence, but she managed to hold it down. She finished the rest of the stew and the feeling of a full stomach was almost uncomfortable.

Lisbeth spied a comb, and picked up working it through her long, tangled hair. Perhaps if she could make herself presentable enough, the Captain would treat her nicely. It was worth a try. She winced and cried out as the comb raked through her tangled hair, but before long she had managed to get it under control and it shimmered brightly in the light of the cabin. Then, sitting on the floor, Lisbeth gently cared for her raw and chaffed ankles. Taking cool water and applying it, she managed to staunch the bleeding and soothe her skin. She had no idea how long she had remained in the cabin, but the longer she was left alone, the larger her fear became. She kept telling herself the Captain was a man, like any other man, and she had had very little difficulty in the past. So why was she so fearful now?

 

[afternooner]

Riley

Riley watched in horror as the sailors dragged lizbeth from the hold. He had all he could do to keep from rushing at them and strangling them to death. He knew Lizbeth was right however hard it was for him to accept. If he'd have interfered they would have both been killed even if he had strangled them both, more would have come and certainly they both would have died and maybe even more in this hell hole. He hung his head and tears formed in his eyes, tears not for himself but for Lizbeth and all like her, mistreated by their fellowmen. Lowering his huge body he sunk exhausted to the straw more exhausted than from any fight. Exhausted from the burden of mans inhumanity to man.

 

[BigDawg69]

The wind picked up as the night deepened. Pithe knew this meant they were fast approaching the edge of the weather. He ordered a change in sails and a slight course correction to take advantage of the stiffer winds. Pithe returned to the stern for a check of his pursuer. The lights though dim seemed closer than before. The approaching of that ship nagged at Pithe, as a bad omen. It soured his already wretched demeanor.

“The guns be ready, sir.” Mr. Wallace spoke softly approaching the captain.

“Make the watch double tonight, Mr. Wallace. Alert me at once should she come within 5 leagues.” Grumbled Pithe.

“Aye, sir.”

The night had grown cold with the wind. Pithe pulled his long black coat over his shoulders and turned to his first mate. “I’ll be turning in now. “ Pithe took long powerful strides down the quarterdeck and turned to go into his own cabin.

The door of the cabin swung open quickly, loudly bouncing off the jam. Pithe took a single commanding step into the room. His large body filled the frame of the door. The young woman’s head snapped around, her mouth dropping open in fear. She had been combing her hair and her hand froze with the comb in mid stroke. The distinct absence of light inside the cabin gave the illusion that Pithe was a great shadowed apparition bearing down on the room. His eyes glared down at the woman from within the dark shadow that encased his head and upper torso.

Pithe took a couple steps into the room, swinging the door to a slam behind him. He turned not his head to watch the woman as he moved to the table. Her eyes were captivated by his size, the power in his movement. Pithe pulled the long heavy coat from his broad shoulders and draped it over a chair. His shirt beneath had long billowed sleeves that laced at the cuff. His pants clung to his strong legs down to just below the knee. Sculpted calves drew down to well worn black leather boots. Silhouetted by the lamp swaying just above the table, his dark hair flew from the top of his head, wind blown and salty.

Pithe poured himself a goblet of wine and took a long gulp before turning to the woman. He stood by the table the silver goblet clasped in his strong hand. Pithe took a long moment to look down on the frail and scared woman. She was beautiful, even more so than he had expected. Her beauty was stark to their surroundings. He looked at her long silken hair, the way her loose blouse fell over her rounded breasts. His eyes cast a gaze on her slender legs as they emerged from beneath her dress. He looked at the scabs and cuts from the binders around her ankles.

Pithe moved slowly and deliberately to the door. He locked the door from within and dropped the key into a small pocket in the front of his pants. He turned back to the girl, looking down at her ankles once more. Without a word he stepped to her. Frightened she moved back against the mirror and huddled there. Pithe ignored her movement and bent down to her. Taking a key from around his neck, Pithe leaned down and released the ankle cuffs. The heavy iron cuffs clanked to the floor. Pithe stood and returned to the table taking up his wine once more.

Pithe glanced over his shoulder at the woman as he sat at the large oak table. He withdrew a rolled parchment and laid it out across the rough surface. Using the bottle and his goblet to hold the edges down, Pithe looked over the chart. His eyes narrowed as he studied the markings drawn on the page. Occasionally he would glance to the woman but never spoke a word. He pulled a small bound leather book from a nearby shelf and dipped a large feather quill in a vile of ink. Pouring over the chart in front of him, Pithe began to scratch notations in the book. He paused periodically to take more from his goblet, but wrote into the night.

Finishing his goblet, Pithe rolled the chart and returned it to the stack. He closed his book and placed it back on the shelf. Picking up a plate with a couple rolls and the bottle Pithe walked over to the woman. She shuttered at his approach and withdrew once more into the wall. He placed the plate and bottle near to her on the floor. Pithe then walked over to his large plush bed. He sat on its side and pulled his boots from his tired feet. Pulling his shirt over his head and tossing to the foot of the bed, Pithe leaned back and grabbed one of the many pillows. He slung the pillow lightly in the direction of the woman. Standing once more, Pithe lit a lamp attached to the wall near the head of his bed. He walked over to the table and extinguished the lamp there.

Returning to the bed, Pithe pulled the first layer of blanket from the bed and folded it over his arm. He laid the dark red blanket at the feet of the woman, before returning to his bed. Pithe laid back into his bed, pulling the heavy comforter over himself. His long arm reached up and extinguished the lamp.